The narrow and twisty trail through the poplar trees was quiet and the bouquet of summer flowers endless. I snapped numerous pictures of various blooms and held out in hopes I’d soon spot an elusive tiger lily.
While
bent over taking yet another picture, I heard the familiar sound of bike chains
rattling and tires thumping from further up the trail. They were coming in hot
and hard. For everyone’s safety, I took a few steps uphill to get out of their
way.
Hunched
over, gripping the handlebars of their downhill bikes to maneuver them through a
rooty section, three teens flew past. The fourth was a bit further behind and
seemed to struggle to keep his bike straight as it bounced over a large root. I
worried about his navigational skills and took two more steps uphill, tripped
over a stone and landed on my butt just as he whizzed by.
Because I’m a mom and gramma, and because I’m the one who got out of the way so as not to ruin their ride, I called out after him, “You’re welcome.”
In my heart I knew I’d hear him shout an embarrassed, “thank you,” as he tried to catch up with his friends. I didn’t get one. Instead, he shouted the ‘f’ bomb followed by ‘off’ and then the word reference for a female dog. I put my hand over my mouth and rolled my eyes.
The sequence of thoughts that ran through my head went something like this:
- school
must be out
- who raised that brat? It only takes a second to say thank you.
- I’m glad they have helmets on
- thank you is timely but the lack of it is better than the response I got
- seriously, a female dog? How unimaginative.
- didn't his parents read the chapter on manners in Dr. Spock?
- do parents even read Dr. Spock these days?
Yes, I’ve been told that it must be a scary place inside my head, but I have to admit, I’m pretty proud of the rational thoughts which surfaced … even though they may have been chattier than necessary.
I stood up, brushed off my shorts and glanced both ways before I stepped back onto the path. A thin plume of dust spiraled up through the trees where they disappeared. When I passed the signs which indicate pathway etiquette I snorted, “Yeah, right.”
I tried to give the kid the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was having a bad day. Current self-help podcasts encourage people to wake up and be kind. Maybe he hasn’t listened to any of them. Or maybe I’ve listened to too many.
At that moment, I decided to make it my mission to ensure my grandkids knew the timeliness of a thank you. Aren’t they lucky? I’m sure they’ll be appreciative of my wisdom and so will their parents. As I tossed around subtle ways to teach them good manners, I heard more bikes coming. I could tell by the lack of rattling and thumping that these bikers were on more of a leisurely ride.
Once
again, I stepped up and off the trail. Three gentlemen came into view. When the
first one saw me, he slowed down even more, put his hand up and waved. As each
one passed by, they smiled and said, ‘thank you.’ The last fella followed it up
with ‘have a nice walk.’ My faith in people was restored.
Is it possible these were the dads or young grampas of the previous renegades? If so, what happened in their gene pool? Or were they just three men out for an afternoon ride looking for tiger lilies.
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